Donning the headphones and dialing up a mix of Placebo, Queen, Beck, Bowie, U2, Bush, Foreigner, and Creed, he closed his eyes and zoned out. His mind was immediately transported to a state of complete Zen. His muscles loosened, relaxing, as images danced through his brain: family, friends, and women. When it finally settled on a vision, he smiled knowingly.
Maura Maxwell bit the tip of her perfectly rounded fingernail with that sultry smile. He could hear her voice beckoning him. Watching her disrobe, revealing that silky smooth skin, made him lick his lips. He craved to hold her, touch her, and make love to her.
He walked to her, but she was always half turned away from him. Why wouldn’t she face him? “Maura? Why do you keep moving away?”
She laughed, throaty and deep. “I’m not. You’re just not fast enough to catch me.”
“Yes, I am.” He heard the dare in her words and liked it.
Then she disappeared, and he was alone.
“That’s not fair,” he said, getting frustrated with her.
“I’m here now.” She appeared again, but one hand was behind her back. Something was hiding there. She stared at him with her terminally smoky, sea-green gaze. “You make me yours.”
“How?” He shook his head. He didn’t do games. He needed to hear the words from that gorgeous mouth, feel those lips that would be so delectable on his body. “Enough!” he shouted.
He grabbed for her and reached her shoulder.
As she turned toward him, he was surprised to see Maura crying.
“What’s wrong? How can I fix it?” he asked.
“Invite me,” Maura said, standing there in some prim, high-necked black dress one second and completely naked in the next as she twirled in circles.
He felt he should turn away, but he couldn’t stop staring. His hands caught her and pulled her toward him. She was so very, very real.
She opened her arms and her soft skin rubbed against him. “I’m ready. I’ll let you in,” she whispered. “I promise. Just be mine now.”
As their bodies were about to touch, he kissed her, becoming lost in her intoxicating touch. His choice this time, as his lips devoured her sweetness, was to have all of her.
Her murmurs beckoned him to hurry, to make love to her before the chance slipped away.
He reached a hand down to pull off his own clothes, but he was already naked, his clothes disappearing before the thought had even fully formed.
They were flesh on flesh now, hands stroking and caressing, bringing such electric pleasure that it was hard to contain himself…to wait for her to be ready…to…to…
Declan jolted awake. He pulled off his headset and looked at the man next to him. “What the hell!”
Leaper was shoving his shoulder. “Dude, we’re here. Time to hop.”
Turning off the iPod and stowing it with his headset, Declan rubbed his eyes and gave his mind a few seconds to clear. His body was set to another function and he had to dial back his, ahem, need and get into warrior mode. His conflicted libido was going to have to duke it out some other time.
Miller was shouting again. Most likely, he was saying something along the lines of…Move those asses. Declan was guessing at that as he followed his Teammates, lifting his pack and grabbing the rest of his gear. They were getting off the C-17, and the blast furnace of midday heat bathed him in an instant sweat.
Images were still dancing at the edges of his thoughts, of a woman that intrigued him and made him want to hold her again, to definitely know more.
* * *
Maura read the note for the tenth time. She sighed and put it on the coffee table. Placing a heart-shaped glass weight on top of it so the wind from the balcony door didn’t accidently blow it away, she stared at the piece of paper.
She threw her hands up. Why did I bother going for a walk? I should have gone over to his house first. Now, who knows if I’m going to see him again!
She shook her head. “Don’t think like that. He will be fine.”
But the worry rolling around in her gut didn’t make her feel better. It was akin to accelerant thrown on a fire. She didn’t want to believe the worst, lest it come true. So she’d have to pretend that everything would be fine. Faking it until she made it had worked when she was younger. She would try a jump or new gymnastics trick, pretending she could do it. The pretending eventually worked, or she got hurt. Either way, it was somewhat effective.
Moving from the couch was necessary, if she was going to stop thinking about him. So she went to the kitchen closet and pulled out her cleaning supplies. She’d put her anxiety to work and clean her apartment completely. She just had to keep busy, keep moving.
* * *
In an undisclosed city in Syria, Declan and the Team were utilizing their favorite segment of SEAL training, evasive driving. Parachuting and playing with the latest tech and guns was pretty cool, but zipping through the streets really got their blood pumping. It added to the moment, when the enemy was chasing them. It felt like something out of an action and adventure movie, except this was real time.
They’d been tasked with retrieving intelligence, and half of their mission was complete. The when and where the Taliban were hiding their latest stronghold had been uncovered. Unfortunately, their contact had died as he relayed the details. The Syrians had recently captured the additional source, a double agent who was going to lead the SEALs there. That was a serious problem.
Now, with Leaper droning on in his ear, Declan gunned the car’s engine and took a hard turn, with Sobbit and Tyler shooting out the back. This could have been labeled a little dramatic, except this shit happened more than anyone would believe. In reality, it was just another day in his blessed life. Being a SEAL meant he was doing some cool-ass shit, if he survived it.
“They’re peeling without the squealing,” said Sobbit. The Combat Medic had a wicked sense of humor. Probably went with the territory; patching guys up couldn’t be easy.
The rest of the Team had taken a different car and an alternate route to run decoy. Normally, they probably wouldn’t have split up, but they’d run into problems with the locals, and it had been optimal to ditch and dash.
Whoever got clear first was going for their safe place (SP). Not a house, but a place where there was better cover and good escape routes. They had a few more contacts tucked around there too.
“Understood,” said Declan. Taking the corner on two wheels had Tyler hooting with laughter and Sobbit holding on for dear life. Declan knew he’d nailed the turn, which gave them an advantage as they sped down the alleyway and made it back out onto the main thoroughfare, losing themselves in the cover of traffic.
After driving a few extra blocks, he was pretty confident no one was on their tail. It’d be worth going to the SP now.
“I’d have preferred a stretch,” teased Leaper as he scanned the area around them too. Declan’s gut told him to hit the SP and get out of Syria.
“You know how I like to hide in plain view,” said Declan. There had been nothing extraordinary about the car they’d lifted. Instead, he’d purposefully chosen one that would most likely run well, but looked like a POS, with its peeling paint and dented fenders. Contrary to what most folks knew, in this part of the world, having any car was like owning a Bentley, and those who were so privileged kept them running in top shape. This was his fourth Op to this place, and he knew the streets pretty well. He could even tell what the temperature would be within a few degrees.
“My friend, the wallflower,” said Leaper.
Pulling the car into a small parking lot, Declan waited at the designated rendezvous for the rest of the Team to join them. He knew he was pretty laid-back for a Master Chief. He hadn’t gotten this far by cracking the whip; instead, he gave his Teammates room to be themselves. Ranks didn’t matter much in the Teams, especially on mission. Everyone had his own specialty. The only time the
y really toed the rank line was when they wore formal uniforms.
Sunlight heated the car’s windows and interior. It’d be reaching a hundred soon. In the meantime, Declan watched the mirrors. He had two different routes in case someone spotted them and they needed to drive around again, though it was doubtful. He preferred having several contingency plans, just in case.
Leaper pulled a granola bar from his pocket. “Well, it’s not a beer, but it’ll have to do.”
Declan scratched his nose. The dust was pretty fierce in this part of the world. He was blessed to not have any allergies. His first swim buddy, Larry Tars, had rolled out of the SEALs after four years because his nose leaked like a faucet. It was hard to be on an Op for ten days and be sucking down phlegm because you couldn’t blow your nose and risk making too much noise. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been far from here. “There’s a place, somewhat of a bar, around the corner. No stout, but there’s a decent ale.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” added Tyler, briefly checking the ammo in his 9 mm. He was young, had only been in the Teams two years, and you could still see the shiny newness on him. “Damn, I’m hungry too. Leaper, toss me one of those.”
“Eat your own,” replied Leaper, taking a big bite. “Yum!” He was a character to be sure, and the best guy Dec knew to have at his back. There was no doubting his ability, with the amount of action he’d seen.
“Pussy,” said Sobbit, pulling a bar from his shirt and handing it to Tyler.
“Dickless,” said Leaper, opening his mouth wide.
“What a symphony,” mumbled Tyler as he stuffed half the bar into his mouth, chewed for ten seconds, and swallowed. “All we need is a trumpet and trombone. Wait, we have Leaper… He can be the resident baboon.”
“Bassoon, ladies. The word you’re looking for is bassoon.” Declan chipped into the snark pot.
“Gesundheit,” blessed Leaper.
Declan smiled. This was a good time to banter. Best part was, he adored these guys and could go to hell and back with them without a second thought. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would the rest of the Team. Being in battle bonded them. They could anticipate each other’s moves and comments, and half the time a single glance said it all. Declan believed this was what family was like, except that he was closer to his Teammates.
The Teams were a tightly bonded group of brothers. Miller coordinated everything; as Intel Officer he was one of them, and he understood how all their personalities worked together best.
In the other car, Miller was driving. Dec was pretty sure that with more officers on board, things were pretty quiet and rather tense in that vehicle. There was a lot of brass and rank on this mission, because it had been a volunteer Op. It was good to get away from desk work and coordinating crap. Besides, they’d all backed each other at different times, and this Op needed a certain kind of extra decisiveness.
If he’d had his way, he would have filled the Op with enlisted personnel. Something about working your way up the ranks gave experience that school couldn’t.
In this mission, Hayes and he tied for the paternal role. Hayes had no funny bone, but he was a dead shot in the trenches and he settled all disputes.
Declan liked to think he was an asset too, as he could anticipate stuff well. SEALs, regardless of rank, tended to all have opportunities to lead at times, unlike other branches of the military.
“I see them,” said Declan, spying the car he’d known would come. He supposed he was more like the partygoer uncle who often had to pull people’s heads out of the toilet or their ass out of the fire. If he’d gone to college, he’d be an officer—a cake eater—and pretty far up the food chain, but that wasn’t who he was. Declan Swifton was an enlisted man through and through who pretty much wanted to stay enlisted. He had no interest in going to the dark side. As Master Chief, this rank let him be himself.
A reader. A warrior. A philosopher. An athlete. A sailor and a SEAL. There’s a philosophy that says if you visualize what you want, you get it. In his mind’s eye, he’d seen just this moment and prepared for its result.
“The locals?” asked Tyler.
“Nope. Our brethren.” Declan smiled. The driving had been textbook. Squeaky clean! Ah, how he loved a good “carpool.”
Chapter 8
Looking out the corner of the window, Declan managed to stay hidden as he scoped out the street below. They’d holed up in an abandoned house, and he was on the top floor, attempting to take in the neighborhood and gain an understanding of its rhythm. He didn’t like the fact that this contact had been a no-show. That didn’t bode well for their mission.
The whole Team still used Frogman Swepston’s Rule of Three. When three aspects went sour, the Op was over. So far, Declan was uneasy. It had been hell to find this place, and if this rendezvous went bad too, they’d be using the Rule of Three to ditch the Op and get out of this place. A fourth problem was one too many, and Syria was not a country that any of them wanted to be caught in, dead or alive.
Screw the denial capabilities of the United States government. The hostiles that could potentially capture the SEALs would torture them and/or kill them on the spot. The environment here was more than volatile. Even the innocents—women and children—hid from the hotbed of the political scene, and if the United Nations truly knew how bad it was, they would be singing a different tune and changing their strategy in helping these folks.
His eyes caught movement across the street. A little girl was sitting in the window. Her mother pulled her away quickly, admonishing her—no doubt for the risky behavior of being visible in the window. It’s a sad day when kids cannot even take a breath of fresh air without worry of being shot or worse.
So far, their hideaway appeared safe. He gestured to Leaper, who headed down the stairs. Gathered Intel would be relayed, and hopefully his swim buddy would come back with news of the contact’s arrival.
He put his attention back on the street and the buildings around them, scanning for trouble. He caught sight of a man who was moving quickly through the street, then paused.
Declan could see blood on him. “Damn,” he swore softly.
Miller stepped up next to him and looked through his own scope. “I’ll let them know.” He headed downstairs.
Standing on the top floor alone, Declan knew the situation couldn’t be good, not with two operatives out of the game. The first contact was dead, and now the second…well…he had clearly been shot and was most likely dying in this particular hellhole. Did that mean the Intel was sound or that it had holes too?
A noise to his left had Declan sneaking a quick glance. It was Leaper, who gestured with his head for Declan to go downstairs. The men exchanged places and Declan headed down to the second floor.
The informant was sprawled out on his back, his blood-soaked shirt in tatters as Declan’s Teammates tried to stanch the bleeding.
“No. I…won’t…survive. Take…the information. Make my death quick. And…go.” The informant struggled to get the words out. He pushed a piece of paper into Miller’s hand, and before they could deny the wish to take his life, he died.
The two Teammates who had been working on the informant made swift work of cleaning up the man, carrying his body down to the first floor, and staging him just inside the battered front door as if he had been shot in the street, stumbled into the abandoned house, and died. That was common enough here.
Miller and Declan pored over the map. They looked at each other.
“No way,” said Miller.
Declan shook his head. “Could this Op get any more fucked? The headquarters is in one of four mountain ranges: Jabel ar Ruwaq, Jabal Abu Rujmayn, Jabal Bishri, or Jabal al-Druze. Given the time constraints, we’ve got to find out which one is the most viable. We can’t lose any more American lives.” Several eyes connected with Declan’s.
“There’s always some kind of immediate
threat. We shouldn’t act out of fear,” said Miller. “Even though the informant died, we’ve got the info. Let’s hop and see what Command wants to do with it. I could go either way on the Rule of Three. We’ve hit too many roadblocks to make me want to go any further, so we’ll bounce the decision up the chain.” Miller spun his finger in a circle. The men gathered their gear.
Declan nodded his head in agreement. He wanted to get out of here. His gut was twisting, and that meant they were in a bad position and it was time to move quickly. “I’ll get Leaper.” He took the steps two at a time. At the landing, he signaled to his swim buddy as he pulled his pack on and grabbed Leaper’s. They’d stashed a car out back.
Now they needed to find out what Command wanted to do next. They’d have to find another place to go where they could set up the radio. Staying safe in Syria, with all of the violence, was easier said than done.
* * *
It had been a week since Declan left. Maura missed him. That was a big negative on her emotional scale, but on the positive side, her shoulder continued to feel better and get stronger every day. She’d continue to do light rehab but decided to hold off on the extra arm work until she fully healed.
If only that pleasant feeling of getting better carried through to this moment. Standing at the entrance of the gym, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Froggy Squats was in ruins. Equipment was on its side and the insides were spray-painted. Mats were torn, their insides spilling out.
She wanted to cry at the sight of it. But that emotional release was not going to get this place cleaned up.
“Wow. That’s a shame,” said Bosco, one of the regulars. “This is third time the gym’s been hit by the same gang. I came in early too, to get a workout in before my meeting.”
“I didn’t know that gangs were a problem here. They’re not going to win,” she said, going into her office, dumping her bag on the desk, and coming back out. “I’m going to put this place back into shape, and we’re going to change our relationship with these gangs.”
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